Epilogue
by Alitheia
Summary: "You don't love me, Kaminaga," the thumb stroking his cheek was tender and the eyes looking at him was almost pleased, he blinked as Miyoshi leaned in for a whisper, "you loved me."


[crossposted from ao3]

 **a/n:** the lyrics (in italic) included in the beginning and the end of the story are from sóley's **_read your book_**

Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and i do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction

.

 **Epilogue**

 _childhood friends!au. surreal. angst. friendship/romance._

* * *

 _I swim too far, fly too high_

 _I forgot to say goodbye_

.

.

.

 **i.**

The sand swallowed his feet as he walked.

Kaminaga blinked. His consciousness was a rolling wave, came in a coil before it broke and receded, again and again until he knew neither when it started nor when it ended, which was actual memory and which was just fantasy. Everything entered his head in random pieces of information; it's the seashore and he found salt in his palate, there's a big hardcover book in his hands and it's familiar, the sand is ticklish and oh, his shoes were not on his feet—Kaminaga looked behind, the steps he had left followed him like a line of ants.

The sun began to set on the horizon, with a silhouette of a ship sailing away. His own shadow on the sand stretched into a figure he didn't recognize. Kaminaga couldn't see Kaminaga the Shadow's expression, but somehow it seemed like it knew where they were and what's happening. Silly, but he was a little envious of it.

When he brought his eyes forward afterwards, his feet stopped abruptly. Just a stone's throw from where he was, there stood another shadow, but this time it wasn't one that's imprinted on the ground, rather, it stood on its own under the evening sky. Its blackness absorbed existence, leaving something that looked like a cutout of a person glued onto an orange background. Catching all the details was impossible, but it was the silhouette of someone he knew best.

He approached the figure, cautiously at first, then his steps became wider, faster. Kaminaga didn't know how but the distance separating them only grew and grew and the silhouette's getting smaller and he dropped the book, starting to run. There was no sound, no wind, no breath; one little scrap of reality got thrown away with every meter of sand that was ruined under his feet.

Kaminaga opened his mouth and called, but his voice didn't come out. Panic engulfed him, he wasn't sure why he was so frightened, but even more intense than that was the feeling of not wanting to lose that shadow. So he sucked in air until his lungs felt like exploding, and shouted as loud as he could until that name sprang out of his throat—

"— _shi_ , Miyoshi!"

 _Miyoshi_ turned his head and in an instant, colors returned to him.

He didn't even have the chance to blink when the glow of Miyoshi's skin, the brilliance of his foxlike eyes, and the deep redness of his hair became visible; he was no longer the silhouette that eats all light.

Kaminaga's body felt like burning when he finally reached the other man, but soon it was all replaced by rapture. The Miyoshi before him was real and tangible, ever so lovely under the light of dawn— _it was really him_. Just how long Kaminaga had been longing to see him again!

"Oh," the spy said, his voice was like a faint ring from a distance, before it gradually grew clearer, "you're here."

His own feelings were incomprehensible, but without doubt something fluttered and swelled in his chest when he heard Miyoshi spoke. Even to his grave Kaminaga might never admit it, but nothing in the world he missed hearing more than that man's voice. "Here—where?"

"Hereafter." The smile on Miyoshi's lips widened. "You're dead, Kaminaga."

.

.

 **ii.**

There was a small road leading to the sea near the houses in which they used to live, and in the confines of that tiny bay Kaminaga used to tell Miyoshi the dreams he had yet to find.

Miyoshi listened more attentively than anyone ever did, then he would start his comments with a soft laugh and said, "You're never satisfied, are you?" though he was essentially the same, because their mind had always been running. Miyoshi kept trying to understand how the world works, while Kaminaga was always thinking about probabilities; the former was a realistic dreamer and himself was a daydreaming realist. No one complemented them better than each other.

At one point in life, they might have owned it all, and yet none of the two was ever satisfied. Miyoshi could never stop the machine in his head, and Kaminaga could never tear his gaze off the furthermost, far beyond the city and the skyline, far beyond any book he read or story he heard. Perhaps it was the reason why he always felt like something's missing, perhaps it was the reason why they were always looking for _something_.

Miyoshi himself didn't like talking about his dreams that much. He looked content enough keeping the universe he had built inside his own head, while he looked down at the world they're now living in from some kind of other place, holding his chin high and smiled mockingly, as if he had discovered things that others couldn't. Kaminaga did sometimes feel like falling behind, but there were times when Miyoshi would let him hear his thoughts, because he knew that man would understand—or at least would try to.

They were just two entities that never belonged, and so when the chance to break free had finally come, they didn't need to think long.

The training at D-Agency turned out to be a bit inhuman (but after all, the point was to create monsters, wasn't it?), yet it's also the best time of Kaminaga's life. It was as if they were standing on a bridge, between the duties of the past and the solitude that was waiting in the future; he knew this was an opportunity that would never come twice, so while crossing to the other side, he might enjoy the view as well. Miyoshi apparently thought of the same, and he surely kissed him back when Kaminaga locked their lips by the shore one day, as the evening clouds drowned the May sun and the sound of the sea filled their ears in between heartbeats.

Kaminaga had loved him for long, far longer than the time it took them to become spies, yet he never said it, for he thought there wasn't really the need to; they would be strangers once they're out of the agency anyway, and he knew Miyoshi could already see how profound his feelings were. The other spy, on the other hand, might seem a bit colder, but he had always been a weird boy and had his own way of expressing his feelings. As long as Kaminaga was still the one—if not only—he ever shared his ideas to and be genuine when they're together, Kaminaga knew that his feelings too, were reciprocated.

.

.

 **iii.**

"—how did it happen?"

That was his only response, and much to Kaminaga's own surprise, it actually came out with a lot more composure than he thought it would. Somehow it just didn't strike him as quite a shock, being in this line of work, he knew that demise would come sooner or later. Kaminaga was mentally prepared. His only qualm was the fact that he couldn't remember how he died.

"Classic." Miyoshi shrugged his shoulders, seemingly indifferent. "The ship you're on collided with something in the middle of the ocean and sank."

"Seriously?"

"No, that was a joke. You only fell asleep in your cabin and most likely, nothing's happening." The man turned his back to him. Stepping lightly next to the water line, his shoes left almost no trace on the wet sand. Miyoshi sounded cheerful when he added, "You should've seen your face just now, it was priceless."

"So I'm not dead?" Kaminaga wasn't as amused just yet. "You mean, I'm now only dreaming?"

The spy looked back at him, letting their eyes met. Nothing could be read from those orbs. "Maybe?"

" _Seriously_ , Miyoshi."

He was annoyed, to be honest, but his affection for Miyoshi and how familiar this felt made him smile. Even here, Miyoshi was still insufferably mysterious; perhaps Kaminaga did fall for him harder than he thought, for even these tiny bits of the spy's personality were brought into his dream. His feet willingly followed the other man, and they snaked along the marks carved by the wave on the sand, but every part of that shoreline looked the same, it never ended somewhere.

Kaminaga returned his eyes to the horizon, only to find out that the sun was still exactly at where it had been, it didn't lower itself or faded in the slightest. Maybe in dreams, time wasn't supposed to function like how it should be, or time was just indeed like this when the two of them were together; he took a glance at the watch around his wrist and realized it's not working.

He then stared at Miyoshi's back from down to head, water made his trousers clung onto his lower legs, and Kaminaga's gaze climbed up to where his vest hugged the waist he always thought to be a little too slim. Miyoshi's suit jacket was also not on him, so Kaminaga traced the outline of his body; he could still recall every inch of Miyoshi's skin clearly, down to every tiny detail as if they had just touched yesterday.

There was an urge to reach and pull Miyoshi into his embrace, but Kaminaga restrained himself, fearing he would be woken up. They hadn't seen each other for almost two years, after all, and Kaminaga heard nothing from him up until now (although this encounter was probably only a dream and therefore didn't make the count). He chose to ask instead, "Where are we heading?"

The spy replied, "To wherever you want."

"Then I'd like to go to where you are," Kaminaga said, half-jokingly.

Miyoshi chuckled. "You can't."

"Why?"

The man slowed down, before stopping completely. He turned again, and Kaminaga's gaze immediately fell upon the dark red stain on the collar of Miyoshi's shirt that he swore wasn't there before.

"Miyoshi?"

"You can't." He brushed the corner of his collar, almost in disgust. There was red all over his hand, and drops fell onto his waistcoat like wine stains. "Not yet."

"You're bleeding!" Kaminaga lurched forward without thinking, cupping the hand in his hold and wipe it off with his fingers, but there was no wound there.

"Calm down," Miyoshi said, "this isn't mine." He looked a little caught off guard, but his smile quickly returned, a lot more composed than what Kaminaga would like. "It's Maki's blood."

Maki—that was a name he recognized as Miyoshi's pseudonym for his mission in Germany (not a piece of information he should've known, but of course there were rules they broke and secrets they only shared with each other). For a moment, the two merely stared into each other eyes. At first Kaminaga didn't get why the other had to mention it, but then his mind connected all the little pieces together.

There was never the need for spoken words.

The next split second, he pulled the spy into his arms, laughing in frustrated breaths while ruffling the hair Miyoshi had always so persistently maintain. "Do you think I'm an idiot—you and Maki are the same person."

"Not my hair, for heaven's sake, how many times do I have to tell you—and no, I don't think you're an idiot, not completely, at least. So," Miyoshi paused, "I don't really have to say this blatantly, do I?"

"No, you don't." Kaminaga planted a kiss on the man's head and buried his nose into the reddish-brown; it didn't smell like Miyoshi, it smelled like the sea.

His own body stiffened, and his chest felt numb. Kaminaga refused to believe in superstitions or any kinds of bad premonition, but some of it made sense now, and though he would want nothing more than to deny his own presumptions, something told him that he might not be able to. His eyes began to sting, and it seemed that sand had found its way into his mouth; his voice was as loud as a whisper when he finally said, "You're always ahead of me in everything, aren't you?"

The body in his embrace shook a little when he chuckled once more, and Kaminaga felt hands sneaking to his back, returning the hug. "You're just too slow, old man."

He held Miyoshi tighter, as if the spy would vaporize into thin air if he didn't. Deep down somewhere, something that he called heart was crumbling down, but Kaminaga managed to raise his voice into a playful tone, "I thought back then at some point, we promised each other we'd cross the Sanzu River together."

"I see that you've read too many sappy novels while I'm gone."

"Couldn't help it."

In between them, he could feel the warmth of Miyoshi's blood.

.

.

 **iv.**

"Miyoshi," Kaminaga called, "I know I've never really said it, but I, all this time, and even now"—choked, he gulped down, this was only a dream and the real Miyoshi might still be fine, but there was a heavy feeling as if a sack of pebbles was clogging his lungs—"I, I've always lo—"

"Don't." Miyoshi cut him short.

Kaminaga shut his mouth, but he could no longer ignore the red that had spread over the front of Miyoshi's shirt, as bright and nauseating as the one that had stained his own vest. He then remembered how the spy said that Kaminaga's expression was similar to a kicked puppy when he's genuinely sad—this was one of those moments, and just like how it had always been, Miyoshi relented more easily. His gaze had warmed when he caressed the side of Kaminaga's jaw.

"Actually, let me phrase that better for you. You don't love me, Kaminaga," the thumb stroking his cheek was tender and the eyes looking at him was almost pleased, he blinked as Miyoshi leaned in for a whisper, "you _loved me_."

.

.

 **v.**

One of Kaminaga's fortes was his memory—and yes, he was probably even better than Miyoshi in this regard, but not that the other spy would admit anyway, so he never boasted (and mind you, Kaminaga was still far more humble when compared to Miyoshi). His mind photographed the things he saw and events were played in his head like short films; his memories of their younger days too, were still fresh, back to the times when he and Miyoshi spent the day in the small library of the latter's house, reciting their favorite lines from famous plays.

While Kaminaga had too many to name, Miyoshi's favorite was Hamlet. When it was the former's turn, he delivered the dialogue like it was made for him. Miyoshi would bring any character to life, as if he was never there and it had only been Hamlet or Laertes or Ophelia. He was always good at becoming another person, that Kaminaga wasn't surprised when he decided to discard his old self and became a spy called Miyoshi.

Then taking up the role of Maki Katsuhiko the art dealer must've been like a dream come true, Kaminaga thought, for Miyoshi always had a passion for arts but was never allowed to study them formally. Kaminaga did miss the days when he used to smuggle art supplies, to the young man who ironically became everything but a painter.

Kaminaga watched the other spy washing red off his hands, before complaining about the blood stain on his own shirt and kicking sand playfully in his direction. Miyoshi splashed water to him in return, and they started laughing and chasing each other and it felt like they're getting back to childhood (even though at that time they had always been too mature to play like they did now).

He couldn't imagine the real Miyoshi frolicking on the sand, but the one who's with him now seemed so happy when he smiled, genuine and youthful. Sometimes Kaminaga wanted to forget things too, so here at the side of the ocean that separated him from reality, he'd indulge for a while and be carefree.

They were still splashing each other water, and Kaminaga was thinking whether to tackle Miyoshi to the sand and roll and kiss him until the end of this dream when a fleet of paper boats nudged his legs. He didn't know where they came from or how, but when he picked up one, Kaminaga immediately recognized the paper—it was a page from Pre-Raphaelite painting book he'd seen Miyoshi with at the agency, the same book he had in his hands before he dropped it somewhere earlier.

Miyoshi also took one boat, unfolded it, and holding it up in front of his chest so Kaminaga could see. Millais' Ophelia was there, in a soaked and half-torn page. "The me on the other side of this ocean—is he still alive, or is he dead; which one do you think it is?"

"Ha-ha," Kaminaga replied, "very funny."

Miyoshi let go of the paper, and water slowly swallowed Ophelia, the way it did in the play when it took her last breath away.

Just like that time too, Kaminaga couldn't find the answer; was Ophelia already dead in that painting, was _Miyoshi_ now really gone? He might hadn't heard any news from the spy, but it didn't make him dead. Miyoshi might still be out there, deep in his undercover, carrying out his tasks. Yet, why this kind of dream? Kaminaga also didn't believe in obscure things like ghosts or the like, but what if this was really Miyoshi's spirit?

He stared at the man, and marveled at why the golden rays of the setting sun should pour down on him so perfectly, highlighting the contours of his face and neck in the way it was breathtaking. He stared too at the blood stain all over the spy's chest and wondered if it had anything to do with his possible death. Perhaps Miyoshi was dying somewhere and his soul's now wandering around like that out-of-body experience he heard before, or it could be that he was already long gone, and his ghost was now only visiting (or haunting?) his former colleagues.

"I would never see you again, would I?"

Kaminaga wasn't sure how those words managed to go out, but every syllable left a bitter taste on his tongue. It just felt surreal, because even if he could draw the conclusion himself, Kaminaga still had no way of knowing the truth, and therefore his logic couldn't accept. But call it intuition, or maybe he was indeed affected by all those sappy novels and let him claim there was an unseen bond between them—one that always allowed them to communicate without words—and so the answer to whether Miyoshi was still alive or not, Kaminaga already _knew_.

The two stood facing each other, unblinking, while little waves crashed against their knees and sweet poignancy pervaded the space in between. Kaminaga's chest by now was too numb to even feel pain.

The ( _dead?_ ) spy let out a long sigh, before straightening his back and putting one hand into his pocket. "Just focus on your current mission."

Kaminaga snorted. "You don't need to tell me that."

"Then allow me to tell you something else." Miyoshi gave another sigh, much more dramatic than the last one, and paused to switch his gaze to the skyline for a more thrilling effect. This was why he had always felt that Miyoshi would fit the art or stage play world much more than succeeding that rigid business of his family—no other person Kaminaga had known was as melodramatic as him—and though he couldn't say for sure that becoming spies was the best choice, at least he was glad that they did it together.

Moments flew away until at the corner of his eyes Kaminaga found the ship he thought had long gone came closing in, and without a warning the ticking of his watch returned, echoing through the air; time's finally began moving again—but too sudden, _too fast!_ —before he knew it the sun had set behind the sea, and along with twilight the high tide rose rapidly to his thighs, his waist, his chest. The shadow on Miyoshi's face became more prominent, then spread all over his figure as the world darkened. The familiar feeling of panic urged him to move, but Kaminaga knew this was the end of the dream he couldn't avoid.

"This is the epilogue, and I end with this book," as the paper boats were sinking, Miyoshi looked at him in the eye, "but you, Kaminaga, you'll be in the sequel."

Orange drained and black exploded; Miyoshi was still there, turning back into a silhouette. The shadowy figure then laughed in Miyoshi's voice, arms reaching out to push Kaminaga down, far below the sea water that wasted no time to grip him like death's hands.

Kaminaga opened his mouth, despite knowing trying to call out to the man who's no longer had a name was futile, but before his voice could get out, salt entered his lungs and he choked up, gasping for the air and the dream that quickly blurred away.

.

.

 **epilogue.**

Kaminaga shoved away a book from his face, blinking a few times before his eyes adjusted to the light. He must've fallen asleep while reading—not something that happened often, so it left him with a slight feeling of disbelief. Stretching his upper body, he picked up the suit jacket on the chair and walked out of the cabin.

His feet brought him to the deck, where he found the summer sun descending on the horizon, almost gone with all its golden rays, leaving shades of purple and orange in the sky and just how he wished Miyoshi was with him now, so the man could capture the scenery into memory and paint it with colors later, so they would exchange stories about their dreams and the things they had yet to find, so they could once again wondered what lay there beyond their eyes.

If only he could, he would've taken a photo of Miyoshi to keep. But that was out of the question, and so the only thing Kaminaga did now was pulling the images from his memory, trying to convince himself that the man really did exist and everything they had gone through was real.

When reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, Kaminaga found a piece of paper, a small flyer he had picked up somewhere before boarding on the ship. Unthinkingly, he folded it into a paper boat, just like in the dream he had earlier that was now starting to wane. He let the tiny boat into the water, and it disappeared under the waves almost instantly. _So is this really how it ends_ , Kaminaga mulled, _what a poor ending_. And immediately after thinking, he imagined what Miyoshi would give as a comeback, _That's why I said you're having the sequel_.

His laugh puffed silently along with the smoke.

Kaminaga left the deck after he finished a second cigarette, thinking about the paper boat and the spy he might never see again. At the other side of the horizon now came a land; its city lights flickered in the night, promising him new stories.

.

.

.

 _I read your book with my eye_

 _It was fun, but still I cry_


End file.
